


Don't Leave Me Now

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:22:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: It’s been ages since he felt the darkness rolling in, though, like an inky wave.He’s grown so much from that angry, apathetic man who quietly agonized over his future and present. The past few years have been busy and stressful but he’s had Magnus at his side and that’s made all the difference. He worked hard to change his outlook and with Magnus in his life, his days are already brightened considerably.Still, Alec’s always quietly feared that those feelings would come back, always hovering just under the surface.Or, Alec gets bad again.





	Don't Leave Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Just a warning that this contains explicit mention of self harm and depression.

He’s losing his goddamn mind.

Alec stares blankly at his open word document. He’s supposed to be writing this month’s report-- due to the Clave at the end of the day tomorrow-- but as he watches the cursor blink slowly on the screen, he feels nothing.

With a deep sigh, as if he can exhale this feeling that's crawling its way into his chest, Alec’s focus switches to the stained glass window. He looks but it’s almost as if he doesn’t see. He feels the weight of Atlas on his shoulders and distantly wonders if it’s back.

It’s been so long since he’s been bad-- bad enough to be noticeable, at any rate. There have been bad days and weeks where he felt less than his best, times when he yearned for his old coping methods like a child wants its favorite blanket.

It’s been ages since he felt the darkness rolling in, though, like an inky wave.

He’s grown so much from that angry, apathetic man who quietly agonized over his future and present. The past few years have been busy and stressful but he’s had Magnus at his side and that’s made all the difference. He worked hard to change his outlook and with Magnus in his life, his days are already brightened considerably.

Still, Alec’s always quietly feared that those feelings would come back, always hovering just under the surface. He’s gotten a small taste of that ash coated despair, dipping his toes in without meaning to a few times over the years.

If he lets himself think about it, he feels like he’s already up to his knees and the tide is as swift as ever, threatening to pull him in over his head.

He’s talked things through with Magnus before-- when he wakes up feeling _not right_ , like everything is just _wrong_. He knows from prior experience that he has tells. Sometimes, it takes a little while for him to figure out that he’s steadily moving down that checklist but once he does, he can feel the ticking of a clock, ominous in his periphery.

That clock is ticking now and he doesn’t have the energy to care. He knows that he should care that things are piling up and that just waking up lately fills him with dread but it seems like a distant concern. The real Alec is shouting from a distance but he’s left here, going through the motions.

Check.

He feels empty, drained. Disconnected from the chaotic control of the Institute. Emotions are exhausting and whether it’s Izzy excitedly rambling about a new weapon design or Jace prattling on about his hot date, Alec can’t find it in himself to give a damn. Looking like he gives a damn-- staying tuned into the conversation enough to keep up-- is a herculean task that leaves him feeling somehow guilty. He feels like he’s faking his interest and it’s another thing to add to the list.

Check.

Alec closes burning eyes and feels traitorous tears start to form. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired and it’s challenging as hell to run the Institute, to keep up appearances, when it’s a herculean task in itself just to get out of goddamn bed in the morning.

That other thing that he resolutely rationalizes so that he can still have plausible deniability is just icing on a too-sweet cake.

 _Check_.

Intellectually, there’s a faint glimmer of what he should do. He should talk to someone-- Magnus or Jace or, hell, Simon. He should maybe take some time off, spend a few days recharging without expectation. He can go to the training room or just take a damn walk and see if that makes the shadows dissipate, if even just a little.

With that thought, Alec stands up, pushing his chair away from his desk. He feels out of focus and everything is hazy at the edges.

Nothing feels real and Alec swallows the panic that lodges in his throat at the realization. He's been here before, after all, and he knows what that means.

Alec is a lot of things but he’s first and foremost a shadowhunter. He’s honed his body over hours and hours and hours of training and field experience. He’s comfortable with his body. He knows his limits and when he needs to get out of his head, he knows where to go.

He spends a few minutes in his bathroom, changing out of his suit and into workout gear-- just tapered sweats and a tank with cut off sleeves.

He strides through the halls of his Institute, gratified to see everyone with their heads down, working. No one bothers him and Alec’s thankful for that. He’s so preoccupied with getting to the training room that he doesn’t see the pair look up at his presence and freeze, sharing worried and knowing looks as their brother does his best to appear invisible.

Alec enters the training room, immediately hitting the switch to obscure the windows.

He doesn’t want anyone to catch a glimpse of this session.

He decides with minimal thought not to wrap his hands as he steps up to the punching bag. He jumps up and down on the balls of his feet a few times and feels anticipation like a live wire. He knows that he’s walking a dangerously fine line but he can’t deny the buzz that he feels from being so close to release.

This used to be a tried and true method to break through the haze. While it’s true that Alec regularly uses the training room to work out his frustrations with the Clave or to keep in mission-ready shape, it’s been ages since he deliberately went with the intention of feeling the ache in his muscles and pain in his hands.

He knows his limits, remembers them well from his few slip ups after meeting Magnus. He rationalizes it-- just a few minutes, one solid punch. He won’t fall back down that tragic rabbit hole.

He just needs a taste to clear his head, to make him feel something.

Alec stretches his arms out behind him before dropping into a sparring stance. He hits the bag with a right punch and feels the impact sing up his arm.

It’s like a deep breath after almost drowning. It’s been ages since Alec felt the satisfaction that comes explicitly from withstanding pain and he wants more.

He always wants more.

He loses himself in the familiar rhythm. His hands are sore and as he lands punch after jab after hit, he craves more in an endless cycle that he remembers well.

He resolutely decides not to think about how he is imperceptibly close to crossing that line.

He chokes the thought that he’s already crossed it.

Sweat pours down his back, falls into his eyes and even as he furiously blinks it away, he savors that tinge of discomfort, too. It means that he’s doing something, something good, productive.

He loses track of time but doesn't stop. No, he doesn’t stop as his arms start to feel like dead weight. He breathes through the pain like he taught himself so long ago and relishes the burn.

He doesn’t immediately recognize the wet areas on the black punching bag. When he does, he figures it’s sweat.

When he realizes that it’s blood, each forceful hit now splitting his knuckles, he can’t stop.

He doesn’t want to stop.

He has the vague thought that he wants to go until he can’t go anymore. He wants to keep going until there’s nothing left of him. He wants to pour himself out until he's as empty as he feels.

Christ, he’s so tired.

Lost in his head, in the rhythmic pounding of his fists that resonates in the room, Alec doesn’t hear the door open or hear the sharp intake of breath.

He does hear the voice that calls out, though, tone patient and calm.

“Alexander.”

Alec throws out an arm to stop the bag’s momentum and as it jars his forearm it’s like there are two versions of him.

One is cursing at how he could have been so stupid as to not hear Magnus come in, at himself for not telling him that things have been getting bad lately.

Another part, though, doesn’t feel anything. He knows in his head that this is bad but he’s too exhausted to care.

Alec doesn’t turn around, doesn’t acknowledge his boyfriend. Instead, he lays his forehead against the punching bag and focuses on not losing it. His breathing is harsh in the stillness of the room and Alec suddenly, desperately wishes that he had his bow with its razor edged string pulled taut.

Alec doesn’t startle when a hand carefully runs through his sweat-soaked hair. He keeps his eyes closed and works on his breathing, trying to get it under control.

Neither one says anything for long moments and Alec doesn’t want to see Magnus. He knows what he looks like-- what they both look like. 

Alec probably looks like a disaster with empty eyes and bruised knuckles. Magnus will look worried and disappointed and Alec can’t face that right now.

He knows what he has to say, though, even if the words leave him feeling hollow.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters hoarsely and tries not to flinch when the hand in his hair freezes.

“Darling, please look at me,” Magnus says, voice achingly gentle. He resumes his stroking and Alec reluctantly raises his head, taking a shuddering breath before opening his eyes.

To his relief, Magnus doesn’t look like he’s casting judgement. His gaze is steady as he moves a hand to brush over Alec’s cheek, down his jaw.

It’s a minute of Magnus studying Alec before his eyes immediately fall down to where Alec’s hands are hanging at his sides.

“May I,” he asks and looks like he’d accept any answer.

Alec can feel the sting of his knuckles, hears the infinitesimally small sound of blood dripping to the floor. Internally, he winces.

“Yeah.”

His voice is short, clipped, but Magnus doesn’t hesitate before reaching down and lifting both of his hands up between them.

Biting his lip at the damage, Alec feels equal parts proud and devastated. The rush is draining and he’s left feeling worse than before-- especially as he resorted to a method he hasn’t tried in years.

His hands are a vibrant blue and purple. His knuckles are split and bleeding sluggishly. Alec grimaces as he tries to flex them and hates himself for wanting to chase the sensation.

Magnus doesn’t say a word and with his face down-turned, Alec can’t quite grasp his expression. He heals Alec’s hands and Alec has to bite his tongue from uttering a refusal.

The blue of Magnus’s magic is soothing and Alec calms a little just from the sight, from the feeling of it brushing his body like wisps of cool air on a hot summer day.

When that’s done, Magnus opens a portal and Alec follows him without a word. They land in the loft and Alec thinks about retreating for a shower but Magnus doesn’t let go of his hand as he leads them to the couch, pulling him down to sit next to him.

The only sound in the apartment is the ticking of the grandfather clock and Alec is exhausted. He just wants to go to sleep and pretend that this day never happened. He just wants to sleep for a few days-- a few months-- and then maybe everything wouldn’t feel like so much fucking effort.

Magnus pulls him closer to his side and Alec slides down the couch a little so that he can tuck his head under Magnus’s chin. He thinks that Magnus should probably find him kinda gross but Magnus just hums and slowly sweeps a hand across his shoulders, seemingly unfazed.

The silence isn’t oppressive by any means but now that the cat’s out of the bag, it seems useless to stave away the inevitable conversation.

“I haven’t been feeling the best.”

Alec’s voice is quiet in the stillness of the room and Magnus doesn’t stop his ministrations as he asks, “Want to talk about it?”

With that innocuous question, it’s like the floodgates have opened. Alec talks-- first faltering, but then his voice grows increasingly steady-- telling Magnus about how the past few weeks have just been too much. That he’s tired all the time and feels like he’s always behind, and everything is so much effort.

He explains that it feels like he’s acting all the time and that he feels disconnected from the rest of the world. Rambling for long minutes, Alec doesn’t know if it’s helping but he can’t deny that it feels like a weight off his chest that Magnus knows.

It wasn’t that he was keeping it from Magnus or that he didn't trust him. Truthfully, Magnus’s workload has been busy as hell this month. He’s been traveling across the world every week, a different place each time, and that’s in addition to his regular duties as the High Warlock of Brooklyn and a warlock in New York. 

Alec didn’t want to burden him because he knew that if he told Magnus-- well, it would make it that much more real. He wouldn’t be able to hide things from himself any longer. Magnus would worry when he really didn’t need to and it would all around be terrible.

Alec tries to ignore the obvious thought that maybe Magnus does need to worry, if the scene he’d walked in on was any indication.

Magnus lets Alec talk until he has nothing more to say, all the while listening intently if silently. Once Alec winds down-- with another apology and reassurance that he won’t ever do it again-- Magnus kisses the top of his head before moving until he’s facing Alec.

Magnus takes his hands, carefully, and stares down at them for a long moment before his gaze comes back up to meet Alec’s eyes.

“Thank you for telling me everything, Alec. I know that it couldn’t have been easy but I’m proud of you nonetheless.”

Alec tries to swallow the lump in his throat at the words. Magnus shouldn’t be proud of Alec-- not when he was so weak as to fall back down.

As if he can read Alec’s thoughts, Magnus leans in and his voice takes a fierce tone, as though he’ll get Alec to hear him through sheer force alone.

“You are the strongest person that I’ve ever met. Just because you had a slip-up, just because you find yourself anchor-less in that dark swirling sea, doesn’t mean that it’s your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. The fact that you do get up every morning and you work as Head of the Institute, all the while you feel like dying inside, is a testament to that incredible strength.”

Clearing his throat, Alec looks down at the joined hands. It’s not that he doesn't believe Magnus, at least on some level. He’s looked up depression and he knows that shadowhunters in general have more than their fair share of mental health issues. Intellectually, he knows that it isn’t weakness to struggle.

That doesn’t help his head though.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t come to me with this sooner, darling. I would have whisked us away for a little while-- or we could have holed up in here and I would have held you until everything didn’t seem so dark.”

Alec looks up at Magnus, confused. “You’ve been busy.”

Magnus returns his confused look. “So?”

Shrugging, Alec says, “You shouldn’t have to worry about me and you had other things to do that are infinitely more important.”

Magnus’s face takes on a new kind of urgency as he raises his hands to cup Alec’s face, thumbs sweeping down his cheeks. He doesn’t let Alec shy away from his gaze. “There is nothing more important to me than you, Alexander. I don’t care what I’m doing or where I am-- if you need me, I want to be there for you. Worrying about you is one of the greatest privileges of my life and I would thank you not to rob me of it,” he adds, smiling faintly.

Alec’s lips twitch as he looks down, trying to hide in Magnus’s palm unsuccessfully. “Still,” he says, closing his eyes. “I should be past this. My life is pretty damn perfect these days but lately it just seems like too much. I’m afraid it’s back,” he whispers and hates how defenseless he sounds.

“Depression doesn’t care what’s going on in your life, darling,” Magnus says, moving closer and touching his forehead gently to Alec’s. “It can come back whenever it damn well feels like it and sometimes it reappears without you noticing until it’s already burrowed its way back into your chest.”

Alec listens to Magnus as he concentrates on his breathing. He smells Magnus’s cologne and that helps soothe him, just a little. “Thank you.”

Magnus kisses Alec’s forehead before returning to his previous position. “No need to thank me, darling. You’ve been there for me when my own demons came crawling back and I refuse to do anything but be there for you. You only have to say the word, Alexander, and I’ll come running.”

Alec smiles faintly as he lets the word soak into him. It disappears, though, when he remembers what Magnus walked in on earlier.

“I’m-- I’m sorry for what you saw today.”

Magnus pulls back and looks at Alec for a long minute before shifting. He moves until he can throw a leg over Alec’s waist and settles down, straddling him. This close, all Alec can focus on is Magnus and it settles something in him as he places his hands on Magnus’s sides, the contact grounding him.

“I’m sorry that you were feeling so much that you hurt yourself. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to distract you or talk you down. I’m sorry that you were suffering so long in silence. You have nothing to be sorry for, however. I don’t blame you. I’m not angry with you. You haven’t disappointed me. I don’t think differently of you.”

Alec’s head snaps up as he hears Magnus rattle off his biggest anxieties about having his boyfriend see him like this. Alec is a soldier, he’s a leader. He always has his shit together, even if it sometimes-- and more often these days-- feels like his mask is crumbling to dust.

“Yeah,” Alec asks, voice hoarse.

Something shifts in Magnus’s expression and he leans down to place the softest of kisses on Alec’s mouth. Pulling back, Magnus breathes, “ _Of course_. I love you, Alexander, and nothing could change that or could make me love you less. Certainly not watching you fight against an invisible, insidious enemy.”

Alec takes a minute to focus on Magnus’s words and feels some of the tension seep from him. “I promise not to do it again,” he says, making the vow as he says the words.

Magnus smiles and it’s just a touch sad. “I appreciate that, darling, but I’d rather you didn’t. It’s an admirable goal and I believe you can do it but if for some reason-- tomorrow or next year or next decade-- you find yourself back in a room training just to bleed then I don’t want an added worry that you broke a promise or somehow disappointed me.”

Magnus kisses Alec’s forehead again, his cheeks and nose and eyes. “As long as you try, as long as you fight, I will never be anything but impressed and proud of you.”

Alec feels tears welling and he pulls Magnus close, burying his head against his boyfriend’s neck.

Magnus doesn’t say anything else, just hold Alec just as tightly and soothes with tiny touches. 

After a while, Alec pulls back and is pleasantly surprised to see that the weight feels a little less oppressive than it did this morning.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Alexander,” Magnus replies, smiling softly.

Alec grimaces, shifting. “Is it okay if I take a shower now?”

Magnus laughs before climbing off his lap. “Of course, darling. If it’s okay with you, I might join you.”

Alec nods and the two of them head to their bathroom. The shower is hot-- but not enough to burn-- and they share lingering, reassuring touches as they both wash the day away. Magnus turns the water off as Alec grabs a towel and just a few minutes later, they’re in pajamas.

After a little debate, they order a pizza and spend the next couple of hours on the couch, eating until they’re stuffed and watching some HGTV show where couples buy their first house.

They make it an early night and when Alec climbs in bed, he feels innumerable relief. He tucks his head under Magnus’s chin and throws a leg over his hip. He’s wearing one of Magnus’s hoodies and feels warm, at ease, in a way he hasn’t been in weeks. Magnus slides a hand under the hoodie to rest against his back and Alec hums, content.

He falls asleep easily, wrapped around Magnus.

If he takes the next day off-- and the day after that-- then Izzy and Jace just have Magnus to thank when their brother returns to the Institute looking healthier and happier than they can remember in longer than they’d care to think.

Alec might not be one hundred percent when he returns to the Institute but he is better. In the back of his mind, he knows that he has Magnus to help him and it makes him stronger somehow.

Alec fights-- every damn day-- until one day he doesn’t need to fight quite as hard.

Until one day, he doesn’t have to fight at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @carmenlire!


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